


Secretary

by AnselaJonla



Series: Prompt fills [18]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 21:20:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16730835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnselaJonla/pseuds/AnselaJonla
Summary: A fic written for a prompt on the r/WritingPrompts subreddit:[WP] You work as a secretary asking ghosts how they died





	Secretary

"I'm dead?"

Oh dear. I wish I could say this was a common occurrence, but it isn't. I still hate having to break it to these poor sods though.

"Yes. I'm sorry. I'd offer you a cup of tea, but..."

"How?" The man shakes his head. "Was it quick?"

"I don't know. What's the last thing you remember? Think hard, concentrate on  _exactly_  what was going on."

The man slumps in his chair and rests his head in his hands.

"I... I was walking into town. I reached the crossing I usually use, and it was busy coming from one direction so I pressed the button, and I waited..."

He trails off. I wait patiently.

"Then that fucking Audi driving  _cunt_  came flying out of Stafford Street and onto the crossing. He just saw an empty fucking road he could drive straight onto and didn't stop to think  _why_  it was empty. Of course that would require him to have a working fucking brain cell."

He's pacing now, gesticulating madly. He's spitting mad about being run over. I don't really blame him. I let him rant for a bit, until he runs out of steam.

"I'll put you down to haunt an accident blackspot, once one becomes available. Please go through the door on the left, and into room 652 to wait until you're assigned a haunting."

The next man to enter the room is already in a temper. He practically snarls at me when I ask him to take a seat.

"When I get my hands on that moron pedestrian who was sauntering across the road like it belonged to him, I'll wring his scrawny little neck. He's probably a fucking foreigner, living off the money that working people like  _me_  pay in taxes. I totalled my car thanks to him."

Ah, this would be 'that fucking Audi driving  _cunt_ ' then. I can't say I have much sympathy for him. I'm already putting him rather far down the priority list for a haunting. Let's see if his attitude changes after a few centuries in a featureless room with only a few people just as disagreeable as him for company. Nice people don't tend to manifest as Killer Drivers after all.

"Door on the left, room 795." I look back at my paperwork in clear dismissal.

The rest of the day is routine. I have a few wonderful chats with old (for humans, anyway) people who've died in their sleep, console those who've lost their fight with a disease, and comforted those who've lost their lives to accidents or violence. None are as amusing as my first two clients of the day.

Some want to start haunting immediately, but unfortunately I can't allow that. There are only a finite number of places that can support us in the mortal realm, so turns just  _have_  to be taken. It's a good thing too; could you imagine what life would be like if everyone who ever died was allowed to haunt the mortal realm at once? It would be chaos.

Ah, more clients have just arrived. It's kicking out time in the UK, which is my domain, and there's always more deaths around then. Drink drivers you know.

Me? I died over 300 years ago. I was offered this position, instead of joining the queue to go back there, and I thought it was a good enough deal. I'll probably offer it someone else in another hundred or so years, when I'm fed up of the job, of gaining knowledge of the mortal world's advanced as they happen, of my speech patterns changing as the English language does

Anyway, I've indulged you enough for today. Go back to room 342, with the rest of the authors waiting their turn.


End file.
